


Polaroids

by listentothewordsyousay



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listentothewordsyousay/pseuds/listentothewordsyousay
Summary: The scenes of his life that he has on replay.





	1. Chapter 1

He loves the movies.

He keeps a suitably manly repertoire of quotes to bounce off Jessica or Mike, to deliberately rile Louis, to puzzle any junior associate brave enough to look him in the eye.

But he plays his favourites (the moments where he learned to learn to charm like Cary Grant, drink Scotch like Sean Connery, swagger like Humphrey Bogart), over and over in his head. It was from them he learned to button his jacket, hail a cab, summon a waiter with a click of his fingers. Those moments are ingrained in his brain, and now that he has almost everything he’s ever dreamed of, he adds himself into his playreel.

For a while he had thought Scottie was his Audrey, his tiny, dark haired partner in crime. His Ingrid, to drink whisky with, his Grace, to catch thieves with. But too often she is unkind to wait staff or to shop assistants; and that’s not part of the game. He’ll always care about the girl he spent so many hours in the library with; but he’s distanced himself from the woman she became. 

There’s only one woman in his highlights reel.


	2. Baseball

His first office was in the corner office of a leaking prewar walkup. It was painted a distinctly industrial shade of grey, with a truly picturesque view of several dumpsters and a brick wall. From the desk, he has a direct view of several sets of broken blinds, a shabbily painted doorframe. He keeps the door open, so that he can see the very last desk in the row of secretaries. 

She’s a five foot ten redhead with a smile that could light up Times Square. 

She’s treated like crap by most of the assholes he works with. On a good day, she gets wolfwhistles or patronising endearments, or even a few bars of Annie. On a bad day, she gets slaps and pinches. 

It makes him rage, because she’s so intelligent and capable, a step ahead of most people. He tells her that, but she only laughs merrily and bats her eyelashes, telling him that’s she’s going to be a famous actress, before twirling back out to face to music.

On his thirtieth birthday, he’s in a bad mood before he even sets a foot in the door, angered by his uncomfortable bed, his uncooperative hair, the rain, the subway (and if he really wanted to admit it to himself) landmark birthdays and no-one to celebrate it with. He goes in early, purposefully avoiding interaction, and pulls open his door to find an tiny clear box on his desk, ostentatiously wrapped in a huge, sparkly red bow. 

When he turns around, she’s sitting at her own desk, glowing like the sun.


	3. Millenium

In one of his favourite memories, she is wearing a party hat and a pair of ludicrous sparkly sunglasses in the shape of the number 2000. It’s ten minutes to midnight and they are gloriously, breathtakingly drunk, old enough to know better and young enough not to care. 

She had begged him to climb out onto the fire escape of the apartment they were partying in, philosophising about the rain washing away the old year and bringing in the new. Sometimes he blames the liquor or her dress (but the truth is, he’d follow her anywhere).

So they had clambered out together, turned their eyes up to the lights and the stars and bellowed out the countdown to the next chapter of their lives, as their hands moved from window frames and railings to shoulders, hips, waist, neck, hair, skin…


End file.
